It's Monday, a full moon, and the end of the month. Tomorrow dawns the last month of 2020, and this post should be a beautiful summary of all of the gratitude that I have recorded over the past 30 days, yet it will not. I could certainly write all of that, but it would not ring true as that is not where my head and heart are at this moment.
Tonight, as I sit here hurting, I am thankful for the ability to love deeply, to be that vulnerable with my heart and myself. I sit tonight with tears in my eyes, sadness present, and fighting the instinct to shut it all down. For when you love openly and vulnerably you may hurt, and my heart wants to protect itself. It is yelling, screaming, pleading to close down, throw up the walls, hide away, and protect! protect! protect! Instead, I sit here letting those feeling wash over me, the tears flowing freely, dripping on my keyboard, my open pages of the letter I wrote but will not send. It simply hurts. It is old traumas coming to surface, it is new experiences intermingling with the old and a moment for cleansing and healing.
I am thankful for the ability to know that I can love that vulnerably. I am thankful for the previous experiences that allow me enough vision in this painful moment to recognize that the instinctual withdrawal is a protective mechanism and I have a choice. I can lean into the pain, or I can flee. You can read here that I chose the pain; fleeing does nothing expect create more trauma. With that I sit here wondering the path forward, yet knowing that in this moment I cannot see the path, nor could I safely choose a path. Choosing a path in this moment would be to grasp the thorny stem of the rose with a fist and squeeze, painful and a poor choice. I will trust that the next steps of the path are there, just hidden under the leaves.
Love, and loving openly, is a gift, and as it blooms so does the individual. I choose to bloom.
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